


fire on fire

by usuallysunny



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe, Attraction, Dan is a Douche, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lawyers, Lucifer is a slut in any universe, Office Sex, corrupt cops and shady lawyers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: At first, Chloe thinks the worst part of the breakup is the effect it has on Trixie. Then she thinks it’s the lonely ache that curls through her chest every time she climbs into a cold, empty bed…And then she meets her husband’s divorce attorney, a wolf wrapped up in a three piece suit.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 42
Kudos: 427





	fire on fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So here is me trying my hand at an AU!Lucifer fic, one that has nothing to do with the supernatural and is just a world of corrupt cops and shameless lawyers. I know nothing about divorces or lawyers, so please allow a little suspension of disbelief! hope you enjoy this smutty, tropey nonsense, complete with a trashy moodboard😂

  
  


* * *

  
Chloe stared at the sleek conference table, her leg bouncing as she counted the tiny cracks in the glass.

She tried to focus on her breaths, tried to stay calm, but her pulse pounded too loud in her ears. The fingers of her right hand tapped anxiously on the table’s surface. Judging by the way he was tensing and sighing next to her, she was irritating her attorney, but Chloe couldn’t find it in herself to care.

She didn’t know why she was surprised. Dan was always late. He was late to every dinner with her mother. He was late picking Trixie up from school. He was even late on their _wedding_ day, leaving her wide eyed and anxious as she stood at the end of the aisle and saw nothing waiting for her. 

She supposed it was only natural he’d be late to negotiate the end of their marriage as well.

Finally, a full twenty minutes after they were supposed to meet, the heavy door creaked open and he slumped inside.

The first thing she noticed was how _tired_ he looked. There were dark circles under his eyes, purplish bruises mottling the skin. His hair was messy and his shirt wasn’t ironed and she wondered when he last ate. Then she scowled at herself and smothered the flame of concern still flickering inside her. It wasn’t her job to worry about him anymore. He’d seen to that.

Her gaze was then drawn to the man walking in behind him, closing the door with a click. She assumed he was Dan’s representation, but whoever he was, his presence made her own attorney tense up, his eyes widening as he stood.

She stood too, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dan mumbled.

 _“Why break the habits of a lifetime?”_ burned on the tip of her tongue, but she clenched her jaw shut.

“Willy!” Dan’s attorney greeted in a thick British accent, a charming smile lighting up his handsome face as he extended his hand, “it is _good_ to see you again.”

Chloe didn’t know her attorney all too well, didn’t know if he preferred to be called William or Mr Kinley, but she imagined _Willy_ was at the bottom of the list. She watched a muscle in his jaw leap before he took the other man’s hand and gave it a reluctant shake.

She didn’t miss how he stammered slightly when he spoke. It took him two tries, the words lodging in his throat.

“Mr Morningstar, I—I didn’t realise you were representing Mr Espinoza.”

The man’s smile was wolfish, lips pulling over gleaming white teeth.

“Yes, the Detective and I go way back,” he said casually before he turned his dark eyes to Chloe, inquisitive and sharp.

She blinked past her angry haze, putting Dan’s lateness to the back of her mind as she truly saw the man in-front of her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. He was beautiful. He was dressed in a tailored, undoubtedly expensive black suit, his red pocket square and silver ring flashes of colour as he held his hand out to her. He had dark hair and stubble to match, lining a jaw that was square and sharp. As she took it, encasing her hand in his, she held his gaze and could see the blackness of his eyes, the indifference in them—cool, unaffected steel.

They searched her frame, starting from her face and dragging all the way to her feet and back. He was shameless about it, completely unapologetic, and she fought the urge to shrink.

It felt almost like a test—a dare not to blush, not to shiver, to stand tall.

She thought she must have passed because something akin to interest flickered through his eyes before she cleared her throat and drew her hand back.

“And _you_ must be the lovely Chloe," he said.

 _“Please._ Detective Decker,” she bit out, disliking his familiarity, “Mr Morningstar, was it?”

The man arched a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking as though he were _pleased_ by the correction.

 _“Please._ Lucifer.”

“Dan and I were married for five years,” she said, ignoring his subtle attempt at a powerplay, “he never mentioned you. Strange, don’t you think?”

“Very,” he agreed with a click of his tongue but didn’t seem to care at all — and then he was smoothly gesturing to the chairs at the table, “shall we?”

She felt a pulsing under her eye, a twitch; she hated when a man told her what to do. Dan had never tried, too lazy or uncaring to push her, but _this_ man… she got the uncomfortable impression that Lucifer Morningstar could match her toe to toe. He held an air of authority, holding himself with an alarming amount of confidence, commanding attention.

Mr Kinley next to her was positively shrinking under it as he slumped into his chair.

She sniffed before reluctantly sitting too, telling herself it was because it was silly to stand for a long meeting, _not_ because Lucifer Morningstar had told her to. What sort of name was that anyway? she thought, and then as they were all shuffling their papers and getting ready, she heard her attorney mutter something under his breath.

_“Fuck.”_

She leaned in, keeping one suspicious eye on the men on the other side of the table.

“What?”

Kinley looked stressed.

“Morningstar’s a shark,” he hissed, “and he charges by the hour. His prices are _obscene_. I thought you said your husband didn’t have any money?”

“He doesn’t,” she frowned.

“Well he must have found some,” he muttered, “this just got a whole lot more complicated.”

Chloe sat back in her seat, thoroughly uninspired by his lack of confidence. More worrying still was the fact that she thought this would be simple. She thought they could keep it civil and out of the courts, a separation built upon respecting the fact that they were once two people who meant the world to each other. If Mr Morningstar was as ruthless as Kinley’s fear implied, there seemed little chance of that.

Dan was declaring war.

And yet, the next words out of his attorney’s mouth were—

“My client is prepared to consider reconciliation.”

Chloe blinked before a laugh burst from her lips.

“You’re joking,” she said flatly.

Lucifer arched a brow. “I take it you don’t share the sentiment?”

Chloe narrowed her eyes, anger licking like hot flames inside her. Dan had lied to her. He had neglected Trixie, treating her more like an inconvenience than a daughter. He had frayed her sense of reality at the edges, wearing them down until she didn’t know what was real anymore.

There might have been a time for them once, a fragile thread woven sometime between the first missed parent’s evening and the last drunken, desperate promise to do better. Then the truth about Palmetto had been revealed, the ugly depth to his betrayal, and there had been no coming back from that.

They had tried to fix it a hundred different ways. It wasn’t as simple as not caring about him anymore, or not wanting to be a family. It was more that they couldn’t find a way to make it work. Therapy hadn’t worked, all the guidance councillors hadn’t worked.

He apologised, he wanted to move past it and he promised he would change, but there were limits to her forgiveness and she just _couldn’t_.

Sometimes broken things healed crooked and the pieces didn’t fit anymore. Chloe wanted out—and she wanted it quickly.

“My client has ruled out any potential for that,” Mr Kinley was answering for her, trying to reclaim some power.

Dan was staring at her, trying to catch her eye. She was burning under it. She set her jaw and stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. She was older now, wiser. She was made of tougher material entirely, glass turned to steel.

“My client is prepared to entertain an amicable dissolution of the marriage without prejudice,” Lucifer said then, his hands folded casually over the desk. Dan’s eyes shot to him, his brows furrowing as though he _wasn’t_ prepared to entertain that at all.

Chloe scoffed, a bitter sound that rolled from the back of her throat.

“ _You_ wouldn’t be here if that was true,” her attorney read her mind, his voice dry and dull.

Lucifer merely smirked, the corner of his mouth tipping

“Is this about the Reese Getty case?” he asked, “you’re not still upset, surely.”

Chloe saw Mr Kinley’s eye twitch and felt his anger, rolling off him in hot waves.

“Upset that a good man who loved his wife not only lost her but everything he had too?” he bit out, “all because of your _creative_ _accounting_.”

Lucifer looked unaffected, casually adjusting his cuffs.

“Willy here was his lawyer. I represented his wife,” he informed Dan, leaning into him slightly, “I got her 90% of the assets and the house in Beverley Hills, while Mr Getty now lives in a studio apartment… with a roommate, I believe.”

“That’s… _repugnant_ ,” Chloe bit out.

“Thank you.”

She blinked in disbelief, her hand shakily reaching for one of the tall glasses of water on the table. She took a sip and it did little to soothe the dry ache in her throat.

This man was _unbelievable,_ totally shameless, and her attorney looked just about ready to cry.

“And I suppose your _personal relationship_ with Linda Martin had nothing to do with it?” William threw fuel on the fire, his tone thick with implication.

That unruffled expression remained etched on the other lawyer’s face. Chloe was no expert on this side of the law, but even _she_ knew fucking your client was a breach of ethics. Somehow she was unsurprised Lucifer Morningstar didn’t seem to care. 

“Hearsay, I’m sure,” he dismissed.

“You’re not in court now, Morningstar,” Kinley seethed.

Lucifer sat back in his chair, taking a deep breath.

“No, I’m sitting opposite you fine people,” he replied calmly, “trying to negotiate a fair settlement for both parties.”

Kinley scoffed.

“It’s a community property state,” he argued, “all assets acquired during the marriage will be split 50%.”

Lucifer raised a brow.

“That simple, is it? I suppose those 7 years of law school were wasted.”

“It _should_ be that simple,” Kinley practically spluttered, his face turning an angry shade of red, “but I know your game, Morningstar. By the time you’re finished finding loopholes and hiding assets, there’ll be nothing _left_ to split.”

“Mr Kinley,” Lucifer purred, his tone lined with faux outrage, “I do hope you’re not accusing me of anything criminal.”

Dan sighed audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. It looked like he was tired of this pissing contest too, his leg bouncing in a gesture Chloe knew meant he was frustrated. Perhaps Lucifer noticed, because he sat forward, his expression becoming a little more serious.

“Ms Decker,” he turned those disarming eyes to her, “the last thing I want to do is overstep the mark, but if your representation can’t set aside his personal dislike for me, perhaps you may wish to find council elsewhere.”

Kinley jumped up, slamming his hands on the desk and making her jump.

“You _bastard!_ ” he seethed before fumbling with his papers, gathering them into a messy pile that he clutched against his chest, “I can’t work with you. I’m sorry, Chloe.”

Chloe stared in disbelief as he stormed out, slamming the door with such force, it rattled in its frame.

She swallowed heavily, wondering what the hell she was going to do now, and Dan was still looking at her with those pleading, puppy dog eyes.

She stared right back at him, bitterness bubbling under the surface, raw and ugly—and all the while, she felt the heat of Lucifer Morningstar’s quietly seeking eyes on her.  
  


* * *

  
The club was pulsing with heat, the bass pounding through the floor, and it only intensified Chloe’s throbbing headache.

She sighed, rubbing her temples, as her best friend chattered next to her.

“That sounds _rough_ , Chlo,” Ella said, knocking back a tequila shot and using her knuckle to pointedly push Chloe’s neglected one closer to her, “why is Dan being such a dick? Hiring a lawyer like that… it’s almost like he’s trying to make it as hard as possible.”

Chloe thought about not drinking but she was so tired of being her normal, sensible self. It had been a week but the meeting still burned in the front of her mind, itching under her skin, and she wanted to forget—even if just for a night.

“That’s _exactly_ what he’s trying to do,” she said dully and took the shot, wincing as it scorched its way down her throat, “he’s made it quite clear he doesn’t want a divorce—so he’s not going to let go easily. He wants to try again.”

Ella glanced at her warily.

“And that’s definitely off the table for you?”

“He _gaslighted_ me, Ella,” she said, her chest clenching with the horrible memories, “he made me feel like I was crazy. He neglected our daughter. Do you know how many times I had to comfort Trixie as she cried herself to sleep because he didn’t turn up to a school play, or he wasn’t there to tuck her in?”

Ella’s expression softened as she reached for her, gently clasping her arm.

“I understand. He’s a first class asshole,” she said scornfully.

A husky chuckle suddenly interrupted them, piercing through the thumping bass. Chloe frowned and glanced over her shoulder to see Lucifer Morningstar approaching, his eyes on the bartender.

“What are you doing here?” Chloe grumbled when he didn’t speak, keeping her on tenterhooks. She thought it was probably intentional and she disliked him intensely.

“Here you go, boss,” the bartender smiled, passing him a glass of amber liquid and Chloe didn’t have time to question the title before Lucifer was elaborating.

“This is my club,” he leaned a hip against the bar, “and it appears my doormen are letting anyone in these days.”

His tone was teasing and playful and she wondered if he took anything seriously. _She_ took things seriously, this was her life, and she didn’t have time for his games. 

“A successful lawyer _and_ a nightclub owner,” she drawled, but her tone was unimpressed, “where _do_ you find the time?”

He merely smiled, keeping her gaze as he took a sip of whiskey. Ella cleared her throat and slid down from her stool, making some excuse about seeing an old friend across the dancefloor. Chloe narrowed her eyes as she left, leaving her alone with one very confusing defence attorney.

He stayed standing, leaning his back against the bar.

He towered over her from the angle, an obvious powerplay. He leaned back, his dark eyes unapologetic as they flickered over her again, and she fought the urge to shiver. The air was white hot, thrumming between them like a living thing, as he took her in.

It rattled her, but she fought not to show it.

She dragged her eyes away from him and took a sip of her overpriced Manhattan, placed next to the empty tequila shot. She wasn’t drunk yet, but she could feel a pleasant buzz, and it made her bolder than she normally would have been.

“How do you know my ex?” she asked, “I’m struggling to understand how he never mentioned you… and how he can afford your services at $400 an hour.”

“You’ve been doing your research,” the corner of his mouth quirked as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He slipped one between his teeth, a flash of white, and held the packet out to her.

She stared at him blankly, unimpressed. Smoking was banned in enclosed spaces, whether he owned the space or not. She wasn’t going to arrest him for it, but she obviously wasn’t going to _indulge_ in it either. She narrowed her eyes at the packet.

His smile stretched around the cigarette, as though he found her very amusing indeed, and he slipped them back into his pocket. He pulled a lighter out and engulfed the end with the flame.

“Answer the question.”

He took a drag and blew the smoke away from her.

“He _can’t_ afford it,” he said easily, “I’m doing him a favour. That’s kind of my thing—granting favours. Well, to be more precise, I’m returning this one. I was in a somewhat… sticky… situation a few years back, with some of my _extra-curricular activities_. Daniel helped me out.”

Chloe’s expression remained flat and unimpressed. He was a lawyer, the best of them apparently, and he knew how to speak in euphemism, how to expertly toe the line of implication.

“What does that mean?”

“Come on, darling,” he hummed on a laugh—and he wasn’t speaking in euphemism anymore, “I know you’re not just an _exceptionally_ pretty face. You know your husband’s a corrupt cop.”

She stiffened, bristling under the accusation. It pressed too close, burned to bright, winding around her neck until it choked her.

“Ex-husband.”

“Not in the eyes of the law,” he fired back, “not yet.”

She clenched her jaw, finding him insufferable and infuriating and despite her better instincts, _intriguing_. He was so calm; he had an answer for everything. She got the impression he wrapped everyone around his little finger, that he smelled weakness like blood in the water. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to see him break. She wanted to ruffle those perfect feathers.

He was wearing a dark navy suit this time, perfectly fitted and obviously expensive. She had never bought much into the fuss over a man in a suit, but she had to admit—he wore it well. He wore something else too, a confidence that bordered on dangerous, a devil-may-care attitude. With every dark look, every crooked smile, she felt a heat she didn’t want to name lick between her thighs.

He leaned across her to flick some cigarette ash in the crystal tray on the bar. She could feel his energy, the strength emanating from his body, the smell of him—all woodsy cologne and whiskey and smoke. It set her nerves on edge.

She tried to bury it, to push it down. He was an attractive man, there was no denying that, but she knew better than to be swept away.

Pretty faces could be dangerous—and Lucifer Morningstar’s was very pretty indeed.

“I suppose you’re surprised I want to divorce him.”

“Not really,” he replied dryly, “I’ve met him.”

She arched a brow, surprised, so he elaborated.

“I said we go way back. I never said we were friends.”

“I don’t know what he’s told you about me, but—”

“—he’s been nothing but complimentary about you,” he interrupted, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “he’s in love with you.”

Chloe balked at his bluntness.

He didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word _subtle_ —or he simply didn’t care.

“He has a funny way of showing it,” she mumbled.

“Don’t we all?”

She dragged her gaze to his, dark and penetrating. She hesitated for a moment, knowing deep down that she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Everyone says you’re a shark, a wolf in a three piece suit,” she huffed humourlessly, rolling her eyes at the way he preened like it was a compliment, “I _have_ done my research. After you scared off my attorney, I asked around about you. You _always_ win. You’re ruthless, cut-throat; you’ll ruin me. If I divorce him and you’re representing him, I’ll lose everything. So why would Dan hire you if he still loves me?”

He leaned in a little closer, his eyes shining conspiratorially.

“So you won’t,” he said simply.

She drew back, her mouth suddenly very dry.

“He’s trying to dissuade me from going through with it,” she muttered at the confirmation of her suspicions, speaking more to herself than to Lucifer.

He took one final drag of his cigarette before leaning over her again and stubbing it out in the ashtray. She swallowed at his proximity, intense and electric. He seemed to be letting her process it, but she was overwhelmed by _him_ instead. She felt a pulling in her gut, drawn to him like a magnet, and a heady sort of desire pooled in the pit of her stomach. The heat he carried with him shimmied over her skin, fighting for a way in.

She swallowed and pushed it down again.

He was staring at her, his eyes slightly narrowed and his head tipped to the side.

“What?”

He trailed a finger around the edge of his whiskey glass, the lights from behind the bar glinting off his ring.

“You’re very difficult to read,” he answered, “it’s… frustrating.”

A scoff pulled from her throat.

“I do apologise,” she rolled her eyes.

“I never said it wasn’t interesting,” he countered, “normally I find people easy to work out. There’s the midlife crisis who’s bored of his long-suffering, loyal wife and wants to cheat her out of the money she’s entitled to. I know he’ll have her favourite diamonds around a blonde twenty-something’s neck before I’ve even cashed his cheque. Then there’s the housewife who’s not quite sure if she wants to go through with it because she’s terrified of being alone. She thinks it’s too late to start again, or no-one else will ever love her, and so she stays.”

“And you can’t profit off her misery,” Chloe pouted sarcastically, “what a shame.”

His mouth quirked, seemingly pleased by her reply.

“It _is_ a shame,” he insisted, “so many people don’t know what they really want, what they really _desire._ It’s even worse when they do, but their fear overrides their ability to act on it. You have neither. You don’t seem afraid of anything. You don’t hate your husband, perhaps a part of you even still loves him, but you’re strong enough to walk away regardless.”

She stayed silent, wondering if she really _was_ that hard to read, because he was doing a good job.

“Do you have kids?” she asked then.

His nose scrunched.

“God, no,” he shuddered, “despise the things.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“Maybe that’s why you can’t understand,” she said, “Dan’s lying and his indifference and the fact that he didn’t care… it didn’t just hurt me. It hurt our daughter. Everything I do, I do for her. He made us _both_ feel like second best. I can’t forgive that.”

He seemed to consider her words, watching her silently as he finished his drink and another one was slid in-front of him. He flicked his hand easily, gesturing to her empty Manhattan and she soon received the same treatment.

She wasn’t impressed, she thought as she took a sip.

She _wasn’t._

She was still burning under his gaze, his attempts to work her out and pick her apart, so she decided to reclaim some of that power for herself.

“You seem different yourself,” she arched a brow, “rich and successful with all these different ventures and careers—but no wife I assume, no kids. Only your ability to _understand people’s desires_ to keep you company.”

“To be different, to be powerful…” he started, his eyes flickering with interest, “is that not a gift? I’ve never had my heart broken, after-all.”

“To be _alone_ ,” she corrected, “perhaps I am a little heartbroken, but I don’t regret my marriage. I would rather have loved and lost, than never loved at all. Shutting yourself off to that doesn’t seem like a good thing. Perhaps you would enjoy finding someone who shares your uniqueness.”

“Then I would no longer be unique.”

“Nor would you be alone.”

His reply died on his tongue, his mouth snapping shut. He blinked before a little, breathless laugh escaped him. He looked amused but his eyes shone a little darker—and she felt rattled by the encounter too.

She thought she had the upper hand, thought she had won, but then he demanded—

“Have dinner with me.”

—and she was back on unsteady ground, quicksand under her feet.

“ _What?_ ”

“You heard me.”

“That’s—” she stammered slightly, annoyingly caught off-guard, “that’s a breach of ethics.”

He merely smiled, lips pulling over straight white teeth.

“Darling, I couldn’t care less about ethics.”

It was a strange, ridiculously blatant thing for a lawyer to say, but after spending time with him, she wasn't surprised.

“Well, even so, I find you _repulsive_ ,” she sniffed stubbornly, “your attitude, everything you stand for. Not to mention the fact that you’re representing my _ex-husband_ against me.”

Her reply only seemed to spur him on, delight him, and she felt _exasperated_. This strange back and forth between them… it was like some sort of weird foreplay for him. He got off on it, revelling in it, and he knew as well as she did that she didn’t find him repulsive at all. They were drawn to each other, pulled into each other’s gravity.

“No, you don’t,” he said easily, his eyes flickering to her mouth, “but until you admit that, I’ll see you at the next negotiation.”

He reached out, casually tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She swallowed heavily, her eyes dropping to his lips too. They flicked from there, to his eyes, and back again before she brought herself back to earth.

“Bring someone better than Kinley this time,” he said as he caught the bartender’s attention, “I do love a challenge.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Detective Decker and her friend’s drinks are on me,” he ordered, tapping the bar twice, “make sure they’re well looked after.”

He gave a little tug on his jacket and with one more smile that he hurled like a weapon, he was gone.

Chloe slumped in her seat and prepared herself for battle.  
  


* * *

  
With the help of her mother’s contacts and her substantial bank account, Chloe _did_ find someone better.

Charlotte Richards was the most elegant women she had ever met. She had a huge office full of expensive oak furniture, a place that reeked of sophistication and class. She was beautiful too, with poker straight, dusty blonde hair and ridiculously long legs and for her services, she charged almost as much as Lucifer Morningstar.

“I hate to say it,” she’d sighed at their first meeting, “but Lucifer’s the best. Honestly, I feel sorry for any woman he marries. The worst part about _that_ divorce would be she wouldn’t be able to hire him.”

Chloe hadn’t missed how she’d used his first name, the strange look that had swept over her features. It all hinted at familiarity and she almost rolled her eyes. Charlotte didn’t seem like the type who was easily wooed, easily won over, and Chloe wondered if there was anyone in this city he _hadn’t_ fucked.

Charlotte had insisted they make them wait. She moved meetings, moved the goalposts, but finally, on a balmy summer’s afternoon, they met to discuss again.

Chloe arrived first, setting her purse down on the table and ignoring Dan. Lucifer stood, adjusting his cuffs before he shook her hand.

“You’re a hard woman to pin down,” he raised a brow before his voice dropped, “though I’m sure I’d love to try.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, a habit she seemed to have acquired since they met. Predictably, it only made his smile widen, and then she sat down and Charlotte walked in.

Lucifer’s eyes followed her as she approached him, a small sway to her hips. There was the briefest flicker of surprise before he schooled his expression back into that charming smile.

“Oh, hello Charlotte,” he crooned, “it’s good to see you, darling.”

“Lucifer,” she purred, placing her hands on his shoulders, and there was no handshake for them. Instead, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek, probably feeling that grit of stubble and breathing him in, all whiskey and smoke, a scent Chloe had _not_ been thinking about.

She _hadn’t_.

She narrowed her eyes, an inexplicable jealousy burning in the pit of her stomach.

“I must say, I’m impressed,” he turned his eyes to her as the lawyers sat down.

“You did tell me to find someone better.”

“Indeed, I did,” he said, “and you have. Ms Richards is a wonderful lawyer. She’s worked under me many times.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes while his expression remained calm, innocent.

“ _With_ ,” she corrected, her tone still smooth but with a hint of anger underneath, “you said under.”

“Did I?”

“Just—stop,” Dan bit out then, his tone a little tortured and his eyes screwing shut. When he opened them, they were focused on Chloe, “can we just—can we talk?”

Chloe bristled, shifting in her seat.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

Dan leaned over the table slightly, seemingly uncaring of the other two people in the room, and his expression turned desperate and imploring.

“Chloe, I don’t want this. I never did,” he tried, upset, “I’m sorry about Palmetto, I really am. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m sorry I made you and Trixie feel like anything less than the most important thing in the world to me. I just got lost. I lost sight of who I am. I’m better now. Before Palmetto, we were good. You know we were. We can make this right again.”

Charlotte and Lucifer looked impassive, unmoved. They’d probably both seen this scene played out a hundred times. Chloe was unmoved too, the flickers of concern and warmth she still felt for him smothered by the memories of what he had done.

It was difficult being alone, to crawl into a cold, empty bed at the end of the day. But seeing Trixie cry was worse, and the way he’d manipulated her was worse. She could co-parent with him, she would do that for her daughter, but their marriage was over.

The stark truth was... she didn’t love him anymore. She couldn’t. His betrayal had burned it right out of her.

“Yes, we can,” she said finally and slid the papers towards him, “and this is how.”

Silence swept over them like a blanket before Charlotte cleared her throat.

“Lucifer, _sweetheart_ ,” she started in a sultry tone that probably would have worked on anyone else, “we both know you’re an exceptional lawyer. There’s a reason the _Morningstar Pre-nup_ is so famous.”

He smirked, his ego well and truly stroked. He leaned into Dan conspiratorially.

“It’s impenetrable,” he explained smugly, “they devote an entire semester to it at Harvard Law.”

“My point is, I know all your tricks,” Charlotte continued, “an offshore bank account here, a second set of books there… but you’re flogging a dead horse. Our clients have roughly the same income, the same _occupation_ in-fact, and the only real option is to split the marital assets by 50%.” 

He leaned back, his fingers drumming casually along the desk.

Finally, he turned his attention to Chloe.

“Your mother is Penelope Decker, correct?” he raised a brow, “the movie star. You’re her only daughter, you even live in her house. I assume you’re set to inherit a substantial amount of money?”

She paused, her blood stirring angrily at the insinuation.

“That’s _her_ money. It’s not mine.”

“It also wasn’t acquired after the marriage,” Charlotte added, unsure of his angle, “so it’s irrelevant.”

Lucifer clicked his tongue.

“Perhaps,” he relented but she knew he wasn’t letting it go, “and I suppose you have some money from _your_ acting days? I knew I recognised you from somewhere. _Hot Tub High School_ happens to be one of my favourite movies.”

She narrowed her eyes as he added, “you're not the only one who's done their research.”

Chloe realised she was clenching her teeth so much, her jaw was starting to ache. 

She tried to relax, but it was impossible, and even more so when Dan suddenly blurted out—

“I want Trixie.”

Silence fell over them again, the atmosphere chilling. It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, like he had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.

“ _What?”_ her voice was low, dangerous.

Lucifer shifted in his seat, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his face for the first time. He looked as surprised as she felt; it was clearly something they hadn’t discussed. He adjusted his jacket slightly and cleared his throat.

“Now Daniel,” he crooned, but there was an uneasy edge to his velvet voice, “let’s not get greedy.”

“I was under the impression you had agreed joint custody for the child—”

Dan cut Charlotte off.

“No, I want full custody.”

Lucifer winced, a slight tick to his jaw, and Chloe’s fury bubbled over.

“So _what_ , I won’t take you back so now you’re trying to hurt me?” she asked, “you think threatening to take my _child_ is going to help your cause? You disgust me.”

She was certain no judge would ever side with him over her, but it wasn’t the point. The fact that he’d threatened it made her sick. She stood, quiet rage simmering inside her.

“This conversation is over."

Charlotte stood too, quietly gathering her things.

“I’ll see you boys in court,” Chloe heard her say—and then she heard nothing but the slam of the door behind her.  
  


* * *

  
“Boss said not to be disturbed.”

Lucifer’s secretary popped her gum, her dark eyes sparkling as she sat back in her chair and crossed her legs at the ankles, propping them up on the desk.

“I don’t care,” Chloe seethed, “I want to see him.”

The woman shrugged, her expression cool and unaffected. It reminded Chloe of the boss himself and she wanted to scream.

“Will you just ask?” she bit out, her patience wearing thin.

The woman’s eyes widened at the fury that must’ve been etched on her face before she _laughed._ She shook her head and leaned forward, one long, perfectly manicured finger pressing down on a button.

“What is it, Maze?” Lucifer’s low burr came through the phone, heavily accented and lined with irritation. Despite her own anger, a depressingly predictable shudder traced down Chloe’s spine.

 _Maze_ grinned, a look of pure delight dancing over her pretty features.

“Someone's here to see you.”

“I _told_ you—” his voice was low, dangerous, “—I don't want to be disturbed.”

“She’s very persistent.”

There was a beat before he asked, “who is it?”

Maze kept her eyes on her and her finger on the button.

“Some blonde bitch.”

Chloe huffed, outraged, and went to speak some choice words before Lucifer was adding—

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

Chloe went to say her name, but Maze held a hand up in a gesture to stop. Her eyes swept from her face, to the badge she didn’t realise was on show at her hip, right down to her shoes and back again.

“Blue eyes, pretty, hot bod,” Chloe threw her a flat expression as Maze continued her assessment, “just your type. Although she’s pretty angry and I think she’s a cop.”

There was another stretch of silence on the other end before his chuckle resonated through the phone.

“Oh, Detective Decker! Wonderful,” he purred, “send her in.”

Maze arched her split brow, obviously surprised by the change in direction, before she shrugged and took her finger off the button.

“You heard him,” she popped her gum again, tipping her chin to the door behind her, “have fun.”

Chloe sent her a sarcastic smile that was more like a sneer and pushed past her, opening the door. When it opened, she caught sight of Lucifer immediately, working behind his desk.

“Thank you, Maze, darling!” he called out through the crack. Maze casually waved a hand but didn’t turn around and then the door fell shut with a click.

“Sorry about that,” he said, standing up and walking around the desk until his back was against it and his hands were curling into the wood either side of him, “I told her not to let anyone in—and she so _loves_ following orders.”

His tone was thick with suggestion and Chloe scoffed.

“How cliché. Is there anyone in this city you _haven’t_ fucked?”

He raised a brow, looking impressed by her fire.

“Just say the word, darling, and I’ll add you to the list,” he said lightly and then glanced to the expensive watch on his wrist, “in-fact, I have some time right now?”

She huffed a harsh breath, frustrated.

“Mr Morningstar—”

“Is it not Lucifer now?”

 _Yes,_ she thought wryly as she stared at the devil, _I suppose it is._

Her frustration only stoked her anger and she hissed—

“How do you sleep at night?”

“Normally under a lovely blonde, sometimes brunette,” he replied calmly, “but I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss my sleeping arrangements. How can I help you, Ms Decker?”

“You need to tell Dan to back off.”

He arched a smooth brow again, crossing his arms over his chest. He was without his jacket and she tried to ignore how the fabric of his white shirt stretched over his taut muscles.

“Do I now?”

“This isn’t a joke, Lucifer,” she took a step forwards, her skin prickling with uneasy heat, “this is my _life_. I told you how much Trixie means to me. I know you’re supposed to be cruel and ruthless and… _whatever_ … I just can’t believe that after all that, you would—”

“ _Chloe_ ,” he interrupted her, the rare use of her real name causing the words to die on her tongue, “I’m not going to help him take your child.”

She paused.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay,” she whispered, relieved, “it’s good to know even _you_ realise how important this is to a mother—”

“—oh, I don’t care about that,” he waved a dismissive hand, “I’m not doing it for _mothers everywhere._ I’m doing it for you.”

She scoffed in disbelief, the air thick with the weight of everything left unsaid, this strange connection between them.

“Why?”

He took a step towards her until they were toe to toe, nothing but thin air and heady desire between them.

“Because you fascinate me,” he said as though it were simple, “and because I’m dropping Daniel.”

She swallowed, burning under his heavy gaze, like an insect under a microscope. It was too much, too overwhelming, and she put her guards up around her.

“Don’t you need a reason to do that?” she asked, her throat suddenly very dry, because she didn’t think lawyers could just _stop_ representing their clients on a whim.

“I _do_ have a reason,” he said, his tone dropping a note, and he approached her like a predator approaching his prey.

She waited for him to elaborate, her heart in her throat. A hot shiver of anticipation curled in her belly.

“Your pesky _breach of ethics_ ,” he husked with a teasing edge, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, “now maybe I won’t be disbarred for doing _this_.”

His other hand came up from his side until they were both cradling her face—and then his mouth was on hers.

Her inhale was sharp and surprised, her hands flying up so her fingers wrapped around his wrists. She was going to push him away, she _was,_ but instead, she found herself holding on tight and returning the kiss. She could feel the curve of his mouth against hers, his smile of triumph, and she pushed him away angrily.

His eyes shone a little darker, wilder, his lips shining from their kiss. She both loved it and hated it, regretted it and didn’t, wanted to walk away and wanted to kiss him again.

Her head was spinning.

“You dropped Dan so you could fuck me?”

That brow arched again, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Not the most romantic way of putting it.”

Her breath escaped her a little shakily because this wasn’t about romance. It wasn’t about love or care or even comfort. It was carnal, purely physical, a desire that had crept under her skin and was clawing for a way out. It was a way to release all that pent up anger inside her, the rage that had simmered from the day Dan came clean about Palmetto and muttered “ _it was me_ ”.   
  
She wanted to use Lucifer, wanted to dig her nails in and make him hiss.

She wanted the violent way _he_ wanted _her_ , wanted him to rip a hole in her so the light could seep back in—and he looked all too happy to oblige.

She stepped closer to him again and his hands went to her waist, pulling her into him. His chest was solid and strong beneath the palm of her hand and she could feel his heart, a steady beat so different to the butterfly stutter of her own. It made her angry. She wanted him to be affected. She wanted to break him like he was breaking her.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

His grin was positively sinful.

“Mmm,” he hummed, leaning in so his mouth traced her cheekbone, “thin line, and all that…”

She shuddered and the dam broke.

She grabbed him, angling his face for a vicious kiss. It was messy, all tongues, teeth, heat and passion, and she was tugging the shirt out of his trousers before she knew it. He matched her step for step, his tongue coaxing her lips open and sweeping inside. It tangled with hers, all rough and hot silk, and when it retreated, she moaned and sought it out again.

He flipped them, walking her backwards until her back hit his desk. She could feel one of his hands wrapped up in her hair, the metal of his ring digging lightly into her skull, a pleasant burn. His other hand was trailing down her thigh, hooking under her knee and hitching her leg over his hip. She gasped, her heart in her throat, and it gave him the opportunity to drag his mouth to her neck.

The sound bled into a moan as he planted hot, open mouthed kisses down the length of her neck, stopping to suck a bloom into her collarbone. She couldn’t find it in herself to care about marks. In-fact, the notion of looking in the mirror the next day and seeing his touch imprinted on her, marked as his, only stoked her desire.

She wanted to mark him too and her nails dug into the banded muscles of his shoulder blades. His thick growl rumbled against her skin, shooting straight between her thighs.

She felt the grit of his stubble slide against her throat as he dragged his mouth back to hers. He kissed her again and she could taste whiskey and the cigarette he must have smoked at lunch and she wanted _more._

“Detective,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers tapping casually along the badge at her hip, “please tell me you brought your cuffs.”

She rolled her eyes, tired of his smart mouth and clever, clever tongue.

“Shut up,” she breathed and pushed him to his knees as though she had a better use for his mouth, “stop talking.”

He let himself be moved, lowering to the expensive, plush carpet with a look of pure delight flashing over his features. His fingers tapped teasingly along the button of her jeans as she ripped her own shirt off and carded her fingers through his hair. She tugged a little, revelling in that flash of white as he hissed through his teeth.

She wasn’t naïve enough to believe he’d stop teasing her, but for now, it was enough for him to flick her jeans open and tug them down her legs. She kicked them to the side when they pooled at her ankles and then she was just in her underwear before him.

Her hips rolled against the desk in impatient anticipation, her hands curling into the wood behind her.

His dark eyes were drawn to the apex of her thighs—or more accurately, the rapidly dampening patch visible on her panties.

He ran one finger across the fabric, from her covered entrance to her clit. She moaned, her hips undulating again.

“Such disdain for me…” he hummed before hooking a finger around the edge of the panties and tugging them aside to reveal her glistening folds, "and yet, so wet for me.”

“ _Please_.”

“It’s alright, darling,” he cooed, sliding the offending garment down her legs, “I know what you need.”

He didn’t make any quips about her useless ex, though she was sure they were resting on his tongue. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her clit, before slowly stroking his tongue down her slit. She choked out a moan, her head tipping back as her fingers tightened in his hair.

He growled thickly, making her shudder, as he closed his mouth over her clit and sucked hard. Her held her trembling thighs apart with his hands, keeping her spread for him, as his tongue lashed at her mercilessly. He built her up, pushing her unbearably close to the edge, and brought her back down again.

He kept her fused to his mouth as she rolled her hips, shamelessly riding his face. His eyes were black as they flickered up to her, the eye contact making her toes curl into his expensive carpet. She was shaking by the time he pulled back to lick two fingers and slowly push them inside her.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she moaned, the word drawn out, as he found that spongy spot inside her that drove her wild. He was attuned to her body; he knew what she wanted. He stroked her walls, crooking his fingers in a come-hither motion, as his hot tongue drew lazy circles on her clit.

She glanced down, her cunt clenching at the sight of him between her thighs, a flash of black against creamy skin. She noticed something else then, how his other hand was between his legs. He was pressing the heel of his palm into his cock, no doubt wanting to relieve the ache as he ate her out.

She smirked and nudged his hand away with her foot.

“Bitch,” he huffed in delight, the hand coming up to grasp her hip.

They bucked away from the desk, her thighs shaking. She could feel that hot ball of pleasure curling at the base of her spine, ready to snap.

“Lucifer,” she breathed, almost choking on the name.

It seemed to please him, a groan of his own rolling from the back of his throat. He kept his fingers inside her but drew his mouth away for a moment. His lips and beard were wet with her as he husked against her inner thigh—

“That’s it, darling. Say my name.”

 _Smug prick,_ she thought, but then he was licking her and fucking her with his fingers again and the perfect combination of sensation had her _sobbing_ his name instead.

Her toes curled and her back arched as he brought her to the edge again and this time, let her fall over it. Her orgasm flew through her, causing stars to explode behind her eyes. She heard him growl as a fresh flood of wetness gushed from her, coating his lips and beard. He worked her through it, lapping at her lazily until she stopped trembling.

He stood and kissed her. She tasted herself on his tongue, tangy and tart. He eased her thighs open again and stepped between them. She could feel his erection, hot and hard and definitely proportionate to the rest of him, nudging insistently against her inner thigh.

She tried to ignore how her hands were shaking as she unbuckled his belt. She kept his gaze, a heated sort of eye contact, as she pulled it out of the loops and the clink as it hit the carpet broke the silence. She worked on his shirt next, unbuttoning it and pushing it off his shoulders.

Her bottom lip rolled between her teeth at the sight of his muscled, bare chest. He was so beautiful, she thought almost scornfully. It wasn’t _fair_ for someone to be that beautiful. He didn’t deserve it.

He easily flicked her bra open as she pushed his trousers and boxers down and then they were finally naked—the point of no return.

He lifted her onto the desk, the head of his cock kissing her clit. She arched her back, her breath hitching in her throat, as her arms looped around his neck. She shuffled forwards until her ass was half hanging off the desk and with mumbles of _safe_ and _the pill_ and one more heavy, significant look, he was lining himself up with her entrance and sinking inside her.

They both groaned at the contact—hers breathed into the cool air of the office, his rasped into her neck. He kissed her again as he pulled out, then pushed in again to the hilt. His pelvis ground against hers, her abs twitching, almost too deep, and then he was setting a steady pace.

She met him thrust for thrust, a dance symbolic of the push and pull that had existed between them from the day they met.

She moaned loudly when he hit the perfect spot, a heavy moan bursting from her lips. She pursed them and he grinned.

With the pad of his thumb, he rolled her lower lip from between her teeth.

“No,” he said, “let me hear you.”

She moaned at the heated request but thought of his secretary and tried to conceal it again. 

“ _Lucifer_ ,” she whispered, trying to scramble some sense of reality back into her—but it was difficult to see clearly when he was making her eyes roll.

His cock was thick and hard inside her, setting a punishing pace. She kept up, her hips rolling to greet his, and she could hear the scrape of metal and wood as the desk was shunted along the carpet. She cried out at a particularly hard thrust, her hands digging into his shoulders as he pounded her into the desk.

She could feel another orgasm building and judging by the grunts and growls rolling from his throat, he was close too. He kept one arm wrapped around her as his other hand snaked between her legs. His thumb rubbed insistent circles on her clit and it was enough to bring her flying over the edge at the same time as him.

She shivered through it, wave upon wave of pleasure cresting over her. As she milked his length, he growled thickly into her throat and then bit down on her shoulder as he came. She held him as he shuddered, his hips stuttering as he pulsed inside her. They stayed wrapped up in each other for a moment, her fingers trailing absentmindedly down his sweat slicked back.

She whimpered when his half-hard cock slipped out of her and he gently placed her back on the floor.

She was a little surprised when he pulled her back into him, his hands on her waist. He didn’t exactly strike her as a cuddler and then, for the second time, he was demanding—

“Have dinner with me.”

She laughed, breathless but relaxed.

“I don’t know…” she started, half teasing, half serious. He was dangerous and unpredictable and everything she didn’t need right now and _yet_ —she wanted him.

Overwhelmingly, intensely, _still_.

“I’m very busy,” she elaborated, “divorces take a lot of time and money, you know.”

“Luckily, I know an exceptionally good lawyer,” he hummed, making her tense in surprise, “those _annoying ethics_ you’re so fond of prevent him from actually representing you... but he’d be more than willing to lend his expertise. For free, even.”

She pulled back, searching his eyes for any sign of teasing. She found none.

“Lucifer…”

“Ms Richards is good,” he conceded with a click of his tongue, “but I’m better.”

“You would really help me?” even if it was in secret or behind closed doors, she couldn’t deny his skill and knowledge would be invaluable.

“Your divorce happens to be in my best interests too.”

She rolled her eyes, highly doubting that he cared about fucking a married woman, but she understood the sentiment.

She considered it for a moment before she relented with a sigh.

“Keep your enemies close, huh?”

He kissed her again and sent her another devastating smile.

“Better the devil you know, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this is my 50th fic! 😱 happy it could be for Deckerstar. I was inspired a little by Desperate Housewives lol, penny dreadful and the film Intolerable Cruelty with George Clooney and Catherine Zeta Jones - would thoroughly recommend! As always, your comments/feedback would be so appreciated <3


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